The Other Story
by Graymalkyn
Summary: Princess Grace embarks on a journey to save Albion from (insert evil entities and fearsome enemies here), while at the same time she attempts to unravel the mysteries of her mother's life. Fable II/III. Same Grace from the one-shot "Heart", same Sparrow from the one-shots "Whistle" and "Alone". Merely playing with the characters, since Albion belongs to Lionhead Studios.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Come, little one. Walk with me and I shall tell you a secret."

The toddler's plump hand found her mother's slender fingers. She looked up and saw a flash of red on her smiling lips. The woman's long chestnut hair seemed lighter in the sun, and her daughter thought that she looked like a princess, which was a bit of an understatement, since her mother was the Queen of Albion.

The girl wanted to ask so many questions – why they had travelled to that place all of a sudden, what made the sun disappear at night, and why her father always insisted on wearing those awfully out-of-fashion breeches when clearly the royal tailor could provide him with better clothes. But her mouth was not yet used to forming sentences, and so she only echoed, "Secret?"

"That's right, my darling. I'm afraid that Mama will have to go on a long journey soon, and before I leave, there's something I must tell you."

She loved the rustle of the fallen leaves beneath her feet. She loved her little boots as well, but not as much as the sound of the grass and the gravel. Her feet enjoyed it as well, she could tell. The toddler squealed in delight when a particularly crunchy twig cracked underneath her toes. Suddenly, a daisy appeared in front of her eyes. She looked at the gloved hand that was offering it, and then she found her mother's warm eyes. Oh, that's right, her mother had been talking after all. She took the flower silently and pressed it against her chest.

"But first, before I tell you my secret, I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine. A very old friend, in fact."

The girl gazed up and followed her mother's finger, which was pointing to the biggest door that she'd ever seen. The door to the castle was also big, of course, but there was something about this one that made it different. Perhaps it was the material – this was some kind of stone that glimmered in the morning sun. The castle door was wooden and shiny only because it was polished every day. No, that wasn't the only difference. This door had an intricate design, with much richer ornaments than the one back at home.

Or perhaps it was the enormous face that occupied its center.

It was probably that.

The face stared down at her and then it looked at her mother. "Welcome back, Sparrow," it said, with a deep, cultured voice. "I see that you've brought your little one with you."

"I told you I would, Reginald. This is my little Grace."

"How do you do, child?" the demon door greeted her.

Grace blinked a couple of times and then looked up at her mother. "Reginald?" she asked.

"Don't ask me. He chose it."

"'Tis a fine name, child," the door replied, slightly miffed. "If you must know, it has run in the family for generations. Or at least it would, if I had a family. Which, I may have heard once or twice, is not the best thing that can happen to you if you want to keep your sanity." He frowned at the Queen. "Is that why you're here after all these years? Do you wish to enter the Retreat? You must leave the child behind if that is what you want. She smells… wrong."

"The things you say, Reginald," Sparrow murmured, shaking her head. "She's just a child."

"Indeed. One that reeks of power still leashed. I would not wish to have an accident in there. You know there is a 'No unleashing power' policy in my dimension!" the door stated, pursing its lips.

"It will be years before she understands…" The Queen knelt down before her child. "Listen to me, Grace. Many things will be revealed in the years to come, some of them lies and some others truths. Both might hurt." She took a diary from the deep pockets in her regal dress. "There will come a time in which you might need solace, and this will give you certainty where there is not."

She extended her left hand and something glittery came out. The girl gaped at her mother's hand, and let out a tiny gasp when the thick, slow magic poured over the book. She was about to touch it when the Queen raised her right hand and a silver wind enveloped the spellbound diary. When both powers came together, they formed a white crystal sphere. The Queen took it in her gloved hands and walked to the pond nearby. She dropped it into the water and down it went, until the child could no longer see it.

"When the time is right, you will retrieve it." She offered the toddler her hand once more. Grace hesitated. Who knew what could come out of that hand? Her mother smiled and took off her glove, wiggling her fingers. "Nothing to fear, darling." They walked back to the door.

" _'Nothing to fear_ _,'_ " the door mocked her. "'Tis not as if magic had ever hurt your beloved ones, right?"

"I don't know why I came to see you," Sparrow sighed.

"Because you want me to remind this child of this moment. Children are silly. Their heads absorb such vast amounts of information, but what do they do with it? Nothing. They just delight in finding new places where to stick their bogeys." Reginald watched the Queen chuckle and shake her head. "Does that mean that your journey is definite?"

"Yes. Where I'm going, my children shouldn't follow." She patted the door amicably on the cheek. "Don't let her forget, will you?"

"Hmph," the door grunted.

Grace couldn't tell for sure whether the door didn't care or if he was trying to express discontent at her mother's decision, but as she was pondering the curious and varied attitudes of adults when dealing with impending good-byes, a butterfly flew by, distracting her. She couldn't tell whether it was black and blue or gold and white.

Such a curious thing.

 _ **~ . ~**_

Jasper tied the ribbon under her chin and wrapped her up. "Are you ready, Princess?" he asked her gently as he offered his hand. She nodded. Such pretty shoes would surely get ruined in the rain; Jasper himself had said so lots of times. Grace wondered why he was letting her wear them now but she decided not to inquire further, lest he changed his mind.

They walked along the terrace and down the stairs, and the soldiers saluted them grimly. When they set foot in the garden, Sir Walter took her in his arms and hugged her tight. She hugged him back. She'd always liked Walter's warm hugs.

"My dear child," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

Jasper cleared his throat discreetly, and Grace realized that Walter had made something improper. She knew the butler's sounds and inflections very well. _"Ah-hem!"_ meant "you should stop doing that" and _"cough-cough"_ was more like "I can't believe I'm hearing/seeing this". Walter evidently knew them too, for he left her back on the ground and told Jasper to make sure that she was taken care of.

Grace saw lots of pretty ladies standing under colorful umbrellas, but they were dressed in black and they look sad. The noblemen patted their wives' hands and they shook their heads, muttering things like, "Such a pity," "What a tragic loss," and "The good ones always die young". ("Wait, what do you mean 'young'? The Queen hadn't been young for a long time. There's no way someone could remain that young for so many years." "Well, maybe not some other Queen. This one was a Hero Queen. They're bound to be different, aren't they?")

 _Was?_ Grace wondered.

As they walked down the steps, she noticed the casket that was being lowered into the catacombs. She looked up at Jasper, who squeezed her plump hand with unusual affection. "Be strong, dear Princess," he murmured with sadness.

They watched part of the procession march in, and after some time they came out, led by Walter. He stood in front of the people, and raised his hands. Grace could see a crown of pure gold, just like the one her mother occasionally wore. Walter lowered the crown onto a boy's head.

"Logan!" Grace squealed, waving at her brother.

Logan cast a quick glance at her and immediately looked away. But she knew that he had seen her, for her brother's lips had discreetly curled into a smile.

Walter bowed before the boy and the rest of the people imitated him. Grace was wondering if it was some kind of game that she hadn't been taught, when the man bellowed, "The Queen is dead! Long live the King!"

"Long live the King!" the people of Albion cheered.

 _Well,_ she thought.

It appeared that her mother wouldn't be coming back home any time soon.

...

.


	2. Life at the Castle

**Life at the Castle**

 **. . .**

Rose tea poured into the smallest cups – _"Careful, child! You are spilling so much that you are practically serving it in the saucer. We are not dwellers, are we?"_ – and sweet pastries made by Patricia the baker. Grace liked the pink sugar flowers that Patty used to decorate some of the mini-cakes, but she especially liked the fact that she never made flowers for the cake Grace saved for Logan. Logan always got a map, or a sword, or a crown. Brother and sister had tea together every afternoon, right after their lessons – geography, fighting, and fencing for him; sewing, decorum, and dancing for her. They had history lessons together, which didn't exactly work, since Logan already knew everything there was to know about the Old Kingdom, and Grace was just starting to understand what people meant when they called their mother a "Hero Queen".

Their tutor, Mr. Partridge, was a funny little man. He had a wine belly, sweaty hands, and a way of wrinkling their nose every time Grace made a mistake, as if he was afraid that the King would chop his head off if he dared correct her. Nevertheless, he would invariably say, "That's ah… That's all too well, Milady… Ah, but perhaps we should… Uh… Your answer is not entirely… Um…" and after what seemed to be a long series of interruptions and false starts, he would give them the right answer.

Presiding their lessons were Walter and Jasper. The former would sit down near the windows and snoozed in the morning sun. Occasionally, a soft snoring would come from his corner, and it would be immediately followed by a very loud "AHEM, AHEM!" from Jasper. Grace always gigglesnorted at the sight of the two men glaring at each other, and Logan coughed quietly to remind her that princesses were not supposed to chortle.

"Smile and wave, Grace," the young boy would say. "Smile and wave."

"Was Mama a real Hero?" Six-year-old Grace asked the question to her twelve-year-old brother, who was practicing his sword skills with Walter.

"That's what Papa used to say," the boy panted. Even if he was still a child, he was never coddled by the kingdom's adviser. "I guess you don't remember because you were too young when he died. Or maybe you still weren't born at the time?"

Walter hit him on the hand with the sheath of his sword. "Less yapping, more parrying… Your Majesty," he grumbled.

Grace washed down her cupcake with a sip of tea. She felt that there was something else that she needed to know, but when she was about to ask her brother after their father, Jasper pulled her hair, tightening back into her pigtails.

"Ow ow ow!" she whimpered, feeling the relentless pull of the butler.

"Little girls should look presentable at all times, Princess. Even if they are asking the most inconvenient questions…" he muttered, giving Walter a cautionary look.

"But it's so hard!" Grace whined, a little sigh escaping her plump lips. "Was Mama a little child once?"

"Oh yes, she was!" Walter smiled, easily dodging Logan's lunge. "Of course, when I met her she was already the beautiful woman you must remember. That leg was not fully extended, Logan. Don't be so hot-headed. Take your time to do it well, or don't do it at all." He pointed to a spot behind Logan and the boy grudgingly walked over there, ready to start practicing his moves again.

"Really, Walter? And did she look presentable at tall times?"

Sir Walter let out a hearty laugh and dropped his sword. "It's 'at _all_ times', sweetheart. Oh, come here, you," he beckoned. Grace jumped into his arms and he made her spin round the room. He kissed her cheek sonorously and hugged her tight.

"Ahem," Jasper cleared his throat.

"Ah, shut up, you stone-hearted boffin. Can't a man-?"

"No, not really, no," Jasper said, crossing his arms. "A man cannot."

Walter made a funny face and Grace giggled. As he was letting her down, she tugged at his sleeve. "Walter," she asked seriously, "if Mama was a little child and she did everything right… Was it because she was a Hero? Can you teach me to be one too?"

The royal adviser scratched the back of his head and crouched so as to look at the girl in the eyes. "Your mother was a very special woman, Gracie. Before she… left, she made me promise that I would take care of you two. And you know why's that?" He poked her gently on the nose. "It's because you two children were the most special thing she had."

"I'm special?" Grace whispered.

"You are the most special little girl in all of Albion," Walter reaffirmed.

"Albion is too big for her to be that special," Logan commented distractedly. He was looking at the map on charted territories that had belonged to their mother and was now framed and hanged on the war room. Jasper coughed discreetly. Logan looked up. "I mean… Grace is definitely the most special girl in Bowerstone."

"Wow…" Grace said in awe. To her mind, Albion and Bowerstone were the same thing, and she assumed that the castle was part of one of them. Possibly both.

 **~ . ~**

Sugared tea and crumpets, sloppily buttered and wolfed down as thirteen-year-old Grace distractedly ignored Jasper's words – _"Do we need to revise the protocol once again, young mistress? Or have we forgotten that you are not to consume your breakfast in such a hasty way?"_ – one more time. She tried to slow down, but the excitement of seeing her brother back from his expedition was proving too much for her, and she dashed down the stairs with her hair only half braided.

"Logan!" she shouted, waving at him frantically. He didn't look up. _How strange,_ she thought, as she tied the ribbon at the end of her braid. But before she could get close to him, a man blocked her path.

"Princess, if you would just hear me for a moment…"

Grace looked at the man. She had seen him before; he was one of the Captains of Logan's Royal Guard. Her brother had outposts all over the land, and this man had the air of someone in charge of a nearby area, but definitely not an exotic one. That moustache seemed to be high-maintenance, and she doubted that it had ever withstood the harsh climate of her brother's distant territories. She was about to protest when she noticed a boy of her age glancing in her direction.

"Oh, do forgive me, Your Highness." He bowed solemnly. "I am Captain Stanner, and this is my son, Elliot. I am in charge of the Millfields region." He watched as Logan was taken into the castle, surrounded by the castle guard. "I'm afraid that your brother needs plenty of rest, Your Highness. He seems to have encountered some… _inconveniences_ during his voyage back home. I am sure that he will recover soon, but you must understand that until the physicians have examined him, we must care for your safety, Your Highness."

Grace cast an anxious look at the figure of her brother as he disappeared into the castle. "Were you part of his guard, Captain?"

"Er… No, Your Highness. My company received noticed of strange occurrences in Driftwood and when we were investigating, we found His Majesty's ship."

"And the crew?"

Captain Stanner's moustache trembled slightly. "We found no traces of the crew, Your Highness."

Grace cocked her head. _How strange,_ she thought once more. She rested her hand on the wall and let out a long sigh. She would surely be kept in the dark once more. _I guess I can always ask Walter,_ she pondered. _I bet he would let me know if there's something wrong with Logan._

But many days went by and there was nothing but silence coming out of Logan's chambers. Grace spent her days gardening, and wondering why the royal adviser had stopped coming to visit her. Jasper always kept her fine clothes ready, in case the King decided to summon his sister at a moment's notice.

One fine morning, Grace was working on a particularly stubborn batch of white roses -which refused to be perfectly white- when she heard a familiar whistling. She peeked over the bushes only to see a radiant man, dressed in the latest fashion. He was taller than the rest of the people that were wandering about the garden, and he had an air of confidence and grandness that made her feel inferior.

"Hrm… If that guy's here, then things are worse than I thought."

Grace turned around quickly and found Walter hiding behind the bushes that she had been watering. She could barely contain her glee, but she managed to gesticulate furiously before she asked, "Where had you been? I've missed you!"

Walter smiled and patted her on the head. "I see that Jasper has you busy with menial tasks. You must be feeling lonely without your brother."

"You have no idea," Grace lamented. "Nobody will talk to me about Logan, and I know that things can't be right. He's never been so… What… What are you hiding back there?" she asked, craning her neck.

Walter placed a finger on his lips and produced a tiny puppy out of his deep pocket. Grace squealed silently and reached out to hold it in her arms. The puppy looked at her and wagged its stubby tail happily.

"Your mother had a dog a long, long time ago. Once she told me that he was her true companion, through thick and thin." Walter scratched the puppy behind its ears. "I'm afraid that you'll need someone like that by your side, my child." He scowled at the castle into which the tall man had just disappeared. "Dark times are coming, it seems. It may be time for us to do some serious training."

"You, training me?" Grace raised an eyebrow. "Etiquette or dance?"

"Battle, my dear." Walter stood up and offered her his hand. "It is time for us to see if you have what it takes to be a Hero."

 **…**

 **.**


	3. Build me Up

**Build me up**

 **. . .**

Elliot ran across the garden, followed by Grace's puppy. His father's words rang in his ears: _"Be proper, boy. The King has already cast us away, so we can't afford to antagonize the Princess. Who knows what your mother would do if I lost my position here; you know how much she loves to parade in her finest clothes around Millfields…"_ But Elliot didn't know any other way of being when he was around Grace. She was so full of light and laughter and warmth and-

"BALLS!"

The boy blinked. Her Highness had picked up more than a few tricks from Walter, and that word was her latest acquisition. Elliot tried not to laugh as he caught a glimpse of Jasper's almost apoplectic face. The butler was more than displeased with the idea of the Princess training like a soldier and swearing like a sailor.

"My goodness! Where do you hear those things? I've _never_ -!"

"Easy, old codger." Walter rested his broadsword on his shoulders as he waited for Grace to stand up and fix her clothes. "Nobody would ever think you'd teach the girl something so useful."

"I simply cannot understand why the _Princess_ ," the butler highlighted with arched eyebrows, "should be exposed to that kind of vulgar vocabulary. The Queen would have held me responsible for these appallingly poor manners." Jasper gasped discreetly. "And what if the King hears of this?"

"Bah!" Walter shrugged. "That will be the day."

Grace shook off the dry leaves and the dirt from her skirt and dropped her sword. She fixed her hair and curtsied dignifiedly before Jasper, who mumbled something about "trying to make up for a potty mouth". The butler stood up when Elliot approached the group. Grace picked up her sword and sheathed it before she walked over to welcome the newcomers.

"Come here, Victus!" she cooed, and the puppy wagged his tail and bounced about. Grace held him in her arms and snuggled him, and she received his playful kisses in return. "Have you been playing with Elliot? Has he been nice to you, you cutiepie? Hmm? Oh, you're so cute!"

Jasper's sigh was cut short by Walter's slap on the butler's back. "Just let her be, you wet blanket. She deserves a bit of sunshine in her life." Walter looked back at the castle, which seemed to have grown a little gloomier with each passing day since Logan's return.

Having been dismissed from his position as Royal Adviser, Walter had little idea what the King was up to at the moment. There had been rumours of an alliance with the dwellers, but that had been quickly dismissed when Reaver had joined the Council. The man had an influential voice in all matters related to the economy of the kingdom, and the exploitation of the mountains seemed to be inevitable now. Walter wondered how come the Council had let him climb that high – the man had always been considered little more than an upstart from Bloodstone, and the old-money families were not eager to have dealings with him. So it was either thanks to Logan's influence or to his five Dragonstompers, which -Walter was sure- had found a way into the negotiation tables and had silently managed to strike terror into the hearts of Reaver's detractors.

"So, what do you think, Walter?" Elliot asked. "Is Her Highness improving?"

" _'_ _Her Highness'_ , pffft!" The warrior blew a raspberry, much to Jasper's disgrace. "You two are still young and burden-free! Use her name!"

"Please do not encourage Master Elliot to follow your example," Jasper snubbed Walter, giving the young lad a look of approval.

"I'm fine with whatever Elliot wants to call me," Grace intervened amicably. "It's nice to feel that I've made another friend."

"Indeed, madam. And since Master Elliot seems to be eager to participate in your education, may I suggest that we request his cooperation in the dancing practice I have scheduled for you?" Jasper took out a gilded notepad. "This is all in the interest of improving Her Highness's waltzing abilities, Master Elliot. I'm afraid I will have to ask you to bring sturdy shoes."

Elliot managed to contain a chuckle. "Very well, Jasper. I'll help you."

"Thank you. Tomorrow morning, then, when the chimes ring seven."

"That early?" Grace's dismay was almost palpable.

"I'm afraid so, madam. Sir Walter has fully booked your day, and it would be nice if you could change your clothes before your fisticuff practice, or whatever it is you do with him." Jasper snap-shut his notepad and added, "Besides, your feet might get awfully swollen after training with the big brute."

"Yeah, yeah. Better to have big feet than a big head," Walter replied, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Gracie. It's time to do some shooting. No moving targets today, so you can relax, Jasper. Now, we could work with the rifle today… I know it might still feel a little heavy," he said as they walked to the shooting range, "but it's time for you to get used to handling heavier weaponry."

"What did Mama prefer?" Grace asked, leaving Victus on the floor. The puppy trotted ahead and occasionally turned around to see if his mistress was still walking behind him.

"Will," Walter chuckled. "Your mother was proud of the mastery over will that she had achieved, especially after… certain events. She did have a rifle and a pistol that she favoured. Never asked her where she got them. They were lighter than the ones you can get in Albion." He tousled Grace's hair tenderly. "Your mother was a natural explorer. My time with her was never dull, I can assure you."

"AHEM." Jasper cleared his throat right behind them.

"Holy Tofu!" Walter exclaimed, startled. "You know I hate it when you do that, you gnashgab!"

"Ah, the big man flinches," Jasper smirked. "When the Queen returned from Samarkand, she brought with her several objects, among which those two stood out: a rifle and a pistol infused with will. Sadly, she never revealed the location of the weapons, and nobody ever questioned their disappearance because frankly, who would question the Queen?"

"Here," Walter said, handing her a simple rifle and placing it in the right position so that she could fire right away. "This will do nicely. Now, the important thing is to focus on your target and to stand your ground even after you've taken the shot. Don't pull back and you'll be fine. Aim, pull the trigger, and wait. Good luck!" he said, patting her on the shoulder and leaving her alone.

Grace swallowed hard. She looked as if she needed more detailed instructions. Even though Walter had told her that there was no way that she could hurt anyone with that type of ammunition, she seemed to be-

Her finger slipped and she pulled the trigger too soon. She lifted the rifle, changing the trajectory of the bullet slightly. It didn't hit the mark, but at least it hadn't hit anyone.

"Tsk tsk tsk," she heard to her right. "Such a sorry shot." Reaver was standing nearby, one hand on his waist and the other resting on his cane. "Of course, the fault lies not in the shooter, but in the instructor. Sir Walter, perhaps you should stick to those brutish knives, darling?"

"You'd better stay away from the Princess, Reaver," Walter snarled, sprinting forward with his sword in hand.

"Oh my, baring your blade already?" Reaver laughed. "There are children in front of us, what will they think?"

"What do you want?"

Reaver cocked his head and gave Walter a smirk. "Please, there is no need for concern. I am merely an observer today. I overheard some of the guards talking about the Princess making use of the shooting range and it piqued my interest. If I may," he purred, approaching Grace, "I would be willing to give you some pointers, Your Highness…"

"I don't think so," Walter said, standing between Grace and the man. There was a fiery look in his eyes, and both men seized each other for a while.

"Why so protective, Wally?" Reaver peered at the man with a certain amount of glee. "Is there something I should –or rather, shouldn't– know? Or is this still the bad blood from way back? I'm not filled with rancour, you know. It is rancour, not time, that gives you wrinkles."

"Hrm-hrm," Jasper murmured, clearing his throat. "I believe that King Logan is waiting for you, messere. You would not want to keep His Majesty wondering where you are."

Reaver gave him an odd grin. "But of course! Business must come first, my dears." He hit the floor with his cane and tipped his hat at Grace. "Your Highness… May you have a pleasant day." He turned around and walked down the path that led to the castle, but before he disappeared round the bend, he shouted, "Keep your finger off the trigger until you've decided to shoot!"

"Bugger off!" Walter shouted in return.

 **~ . ~**

"Why are you massaging my cheeks, Jasper?" Grace mumbled. The sun had barely come out when the butler had drawn the curtains to wake her up.

"Because there is a horrible mark across your face. Did or didn't I tell you not to sleep on your belly? Face up, or on your side. Face down and you'll drool on the pillows."

"It must have been Victus-" Grace started to protest, but that only managed to irritate Jasper even more.

"The dog has a basket all for himself. Now, unless you want me to transfer your pillow and your blanket to the basket…" Jasper said, brushing her hair energetically and tying it up with a tight ribbon. "Ah, wonderful! Your hair looks radiant this morning. Master Elliot will be most impressed."

"Why would I want Elliot to be impressed?" she asked, doe-eyed. "He is my friend, nothing more."

"Of course, madam."

Grace mulled over Jasper's words during breakfast. Elliot was a nice boy. They were the same age, their birthdays apart only for two weeks. He had been nothing but kind and polite towards her. When he was not busy with his personal tutor, he was helping the people of Bowerstone Industrial or overseeing her lessons with Jasper and Victus. He never spoke more than it seemed necessary, and he rarely questioned.

He was pretty dull.

As soon as Grace finished her breakfast, Jasper led her to the ballroom, where Elliot was waiting.

"Your Highness," he said, bowing before her. He was dressed in the finest clothes he'd ever worn, and his dark hair was combed appropriately, except for a wild tuft of lighter hair that simply refused to join the rest.

"I thought we'd agreed on you calling me by my name," she said, curtsying.

He rested his hand on her waist firmly but tenderly, and as their hands clasped together, he murmured, "Very well, Grace."

She couldn't explain why the room suddenly felt like summer.

…

.


End file.
